


Equilibrium

by Chronolith



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Grief/Mourning, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 04:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/278773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chronolith/pseuds/Chronolith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Not love," you correct with a nip to her breast as you roll up her body. Easy as anything with sweat slick between the two of you. The way her breath catches in her throat, arching her backward against your mouth, is perhaps the very best thing. "Hate. I'll always hate you best."</p><p>Terezi coming to terms and Dave is a surprisingly good moirail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equilibrium

**Terezi: Listen to Karkat's Rant**

You ought to tell Karkat to just give it up already. He's trying to explain, again, to John the concept of kismesis. And John is failing, again, to get it. You ought to tell Karkat that a practicum is needed at this point, not a lecture.

And you can See the paths that they chart against each other. The tension and pressure, the release and explosion. They define each other--chart out each other's sharp edges and calm plateaus. You can See this, so you know that the entire kismesis quadrant won't make sense to John until the first time Karkat snaps and throws a punch and they end up a tangled mess on the floor.

You can See this little budding blackrom and it is bitter sweet like dark chocolate. Because you can See it you say nothing at all because a good matesprit helps her partner's quadrant filling. Even though Karkat's spastic and increasingly enraged attempts at explanation make the ache you'd swept under the rug, bottled in a a jar of perfect ebony, locked in chains tighter than Kanaya's fetch modus, seize your chest right below your heart and squeeze. You can't breathe but you can't walk away either.

You had Seen this too. The ache will that will always be with you.

> (("Say you'll aaaaaaaalways love me best," she says with the smirk painting her voice a lovely phthalo blue. You can hear the rushed blood that paints her cheeks and taste her delight like chocolate on your tongue. Delighted with herself, with you, but more importantly with the 'us' you chart between each other.
> 
> "Not love," you correct with a nip to her breast as you roll up her body. Easy as anything with sweat slick between the two of you. The way her breath catches in her throat, arching her backward against your mouth, is perhaps the very best thing. "Hate. I'll always hate you best."
> 
> Her laugh is high and a little wild. She'll make you pay for that comment. You know she will. She was feeling comfortable and affectionate and now she'll think you've thrown it in her face. But there's a little tremble of fear there as well. It smells sweet and tangy, like those tiny oranges that you eat in winter. You press her down, feeling her body tense and protest, and know she's got that slightly petulant frown that hides her confusion. Her skin tastes like her fear--sweet and tangy--but the desire is there chasing the fear. Probably only there because of the fear.
> 
> Spiced winter oranges, you think. That's what her skin tastes like. Spiced winter oranges.
> 
> She fists one hand in your hair, the real one, not the one you took from her. ( _make her pay_ , sang your blood, _make her pay_.) She pulls your face to hers with that one hand and you know she's staring into your red &gone eyes from the breath on your face and the smell of her _regretfearangerhate_. "I'll make it so you will never hate anyone like you hate me."
> 
> The Serious Vriska voice makes things tighten low in your body. The voice shot through with vermillion malice and deepest ebony black. You smile the crooked smile you know makes her scream and rage and want to claw your face.
> 
> "Promise?"))

"So it's basically hate sex," drawls Dave. You know he's watching you from the way his voice echos around Rose's cavernous respite room. His scent carries that scent of _worryconfusionannoyance_ than only you seem to provoke. You know he's been watching you for a long time. Most of the little rant/lecture that Karkat's been indulging in, ever since you went quiet--pulling away and down into yourself. You give him a grin full of arrogance and teeth.

"Hatesex," you echo with a purring edge to your voice.

> ((And she _likesfearshates_ it best when you have that purring sharp undertone.
> 
> The one that makes her really wonder if it was wise to push those buttons when your mouth--wicked fangs and sharp sense of retribution--is working through her underwear until she's wet and writhing.))

"Hatesex," you say again, tasting the word. When Dave says it the word has a guttertrash smell, a feel like gravel on the back of your neck.

> ((Like when she tackled you to the ground, the mechanical arm Equius built her chaining your hands above your head while she bites your collarbone hard enough to make you bleed and moan.))

When you say the word it just tastes licorice black with regret, so you don't say it again. Instead you give Dave a wicked grin. "That's a good word."

You stand and stretch. You can feel the eyes tracking you. Worried, confused, or annoyed at turns. You pat Karkat on the head while he gathers breath to rage about how kismesis is not hatesex. He fancies it his favorite quadrant when he actually has never filled it. He swats at you and swears. You leave the room with a laugh and a swagger. If the laugh has sharp edges, well, all your laughter is sharp now. As sharp as your sword, even if the only one it pierces now is you.

> ((She's got one hand around your throat and you can smell the must of her rage and desire. Her breath tastes like wine and cardamon--you've gotten her good this time. This time she might actually go through with it.
> 
> The idea that you'd fail justice. That you'd actually lose this little cat and mouse game of villain and avenger clears your mind of the lust fog. She might be stronger, but your far more subtle and you can See.
> 
> "Don't you ever laugh at me," she snarls. Her rage is a gorgeous hot thing that burns through her skin like the sun through clouds. "Don't you ever."
> 
> You just smile your crooked smile, and you know that with your red&gone eyes--she's already slapped the glasses off your face, making them shatter into a million little slivers of crimson glass--that small gesture makes her hesitate. When you smell that perfect scent of her _regretconfusionlust_ you move. One leg behind hers and a shift of your hips sends you both tumbling to the ground. She's got her hands up your shirt before her back hits the floor of the lab. You kiss her bloody. It's the last time the two of you fuck.
> 
> The next time you see her you run your sword right through her heart.))

The other Seer's home is almost as labyrinthine as the labs. You trail your fingers along the walls memorizing the texture. When the human kids had pulled you survivors through to this world--their reboot you guess--you hadn't expected to end up staying with the other Seer. Well, there were a lot of things none of you had expected.

Dave is trailing you. If you weren't expecting him to follow you might not have noticed. Coolkid is a quiet one. Self-contained. But you hear his soft footsteps and the slow pace of his breath, like he's counting each one out. He doesn't say anything at all when he takes your elbow and steers you--gentle but firm--down a hallway (fifteen steps), up a flight of stairs (twenty steps and narrow), and out a door (heavy and metallic smelling). Then the two of you are outside. High up from the movement of the wind across your skin and the smell of birds nesting.

He lets go and moves off. Settling himself on the balcony railing you decide. He's still watching you and you can still smell his worryconfusionannoyance like a bad incense. You take careful steps to the edge of the balcony and then lean out across the railing--which is more a low stone wall that a railing--to taste the wind. He makes a frustrated sound.

"Annoyed, coolkid?" you ask with your wide, wicked grin. You listen to him pull off his shades. It's a movement that's loud for him. Sharp rustling of the clothes and a hard snap of the shades.

"Oh," you coo at him. "You are."

"Who was it?" he asks. His voice is low and steady. His scent smells like cool, still water. You wonder what's swimming under that water.

He raises a hand when you open your mouth to answer, mouth already moving to say ridiculous silly things. The movement is sharp and hard. Dark emotions swimming under that cool, still water you decide. Large, dark emotions that you can only chart the silhouette of. "No bullshit."

You lean your back against that stone balcony railing. The grittiness of it feels comforting. Coolkid is watching you all patient-like. No nervous or anxious rustling, no frustrated spastic movements. No sounds of pursed lips or wringing hands. Coolkid, you decide, is not going to be thrown off or deterred. You could out wait him. You could.

But your can See how that would fracture your relationship. Drive a wedge of resentment straight through it. He wants you to trust him and he's being open. You can See where this could go. Where it has been going since you sent him that first awful mspaint.

He's taking you seriously. You pull off your own glasses so both you and him are down without your walls.

"Vriska," you say, and your voice sounds plastic-flat even to you.

There's no startled movements from your coolkid. No sharp intake of breath, no change to that still, cool water scent.

No, wait. You raise your head a little. There is a tiny whiff of sharp fire. Seems like something is going on under that glacier facade.

"The crazy spiderbitch who was playing mentor to John." It's not a question.

You smile and its a little crooked. She might have liked that phrase, 'crazy spiderbitch', depending on the day. But she wouldn't have liked your coolkid. Oh no. "She was always very serious in her relationships."

The only problem was that she tended to change her definition of the relationship on the fly and without warning. Except with you.

He ignores this. "And you were her what, what the fuck was it, kismesis."

You think about it. The word was never said between the two of you. Then again, it was never needed. You said it--the two of you--with each blossoming bruise and bloody kiss. You said it with your cat-and-mouse games. You knew it when she would turn your way smelling like fire smoke and rage.

"Yes," you say instead.

"And now she's dead."

"Yes."

"Because you killed her."

Your knees give out at that. No one has said that yet. Not out loud. Not to you. You slide down the balcony railing until your butt hits the stone with a hard thump. All the breath rushes out of you. You wonder what expression your face shows. "Yes."

Your voice is gravel rough and nearly silent it's such a tiny whisper.

There's a weird sort of interrupted sound of movement. He must be time-stepping to you. It would almost be funny. Your expression must be pretty bad to make your coolkid use his time powers like. You feel him settle next to you--his shoulder pressing against yours. The two of you sit next to each other in the wind. You listen to him breathe, the slow measured breath like he's counting each one out. You feel your own breath slow to match his--balancing out.

"It must have been just," he says, his breath still slow and measured. "Because she stayed dead."

You take a deep breath, tasting the distant pine-cold of the forest. You let that chill settle over you, like the calm-coolness of Dave. It settles the panicked screaming in your blood.

Where it once sang _make her pay, make her pay_ there was only a panicked chorus of _she's gone, she's gone_. You breath deep, taking in all the flavors of ice and calm around you. It's almost funny that it's an alien kid who barely knows you who gets you the best. Knows what you need.

"It was just," you agree and feel something click into place in your soul. "It was the end of the game we played between us."

"She went too far." He says it like a question.

That makes you laugh and the laughter is only a little bitter. "She went too far a long, long time ago. It was just time for judgement."

Dave hears all the things you say and don't say. All the fractured pieces of the tapestry that you and Vriska wove between yourselves. The tapestry that you rent asunder.

"You made a choice."

"Yes," you feel your blood begin to race again. You wonder if he can hear it. "I looked at the scales. Kismesis against everything else."

You feel Dave turn and know those cherry-red eyes are studying you. Eyes as red as Karkat's blood. You had balanced blue against red, and red had won out.

"Karkat against Vriska." It's not a question.

You drag the cold of the wind into you. You can feel yourself gulping, the ache has your lungs in a vice grip, but you force yourself to speak. Justice demands it.

"Not just Karkat. You, myself. The dead demanded it. The scales were not in balance, but there was no equivalent exchange. It was too much red for so little blue. So I ... chose."

"A hard thing for a Libra to do," Dave says and you inhale sharply before you taste the rich, warm concern under the brittle, dry humor.

"We can decide when all the evidence is in," you respond, coating your tone with the same brittle dry humor. Things have been said, acknowledged, and now you think perhaps they can settle into a new shape. Cool water spilling in to find the space left empty.

"So," says your coolkid. His tone is calm, but you can feel him beating the tempo of some some human song on his knee. "Me."

"You?" you ask, and you hear the purring tone to your voice but the edge is gone. A new tone then. One just for him.

His scent turns sharp but not bitter. Dave Strider's exasperated scent. You don't think you'll have any trouble remembering it. "Me, you said you saw me on the scales."

"Yessss?" You draw out the word, feeling your grin stretch side to side. He was too perfect, your coolkid.

You can tell he's giving you a filthy look as he turns. You can feel it on your skin like a hard brush scrubbing away the _regretrageguilt_ left after Vriska.

"You want me to break the cool, Rez?" You've never had anyone call you that. You think you like it. "Have me all down on my knees begging you, begging you please?"

He turns it into a song at the end which makes you giggle. With that giggle you feel yourself relax. You knew it had been the right choice. But now you feel like you might actually start to believe that.

You make a diamond with your fingers. "Moirails, duh, coolkid."

He settles back so he's shoulder to shoulder to you again. "Oh. The bro quadrant. That's cool."

That makes you laugh, but its not sword sharp and slicing. You sit together breathing in the winter chill. The two of you sit there in comfortable silence until Rose comes to find you both.

You're content to ignore her until she turns to you and you smell her scent change from the sweet lavender of her concern for Dave to something sharp and tangy. You're reminded of oranges in winter. She moves towards you with the slightest of whispers of cloth moving against cloth. Wearing silk, you think. No powers happening here, just a conservation of movement inherent and natural to Rose herself. Something that could be mistaken for gentleness, but you are instead reminded of the careful stillness of a snake about to strike. You don't think she'd care for analogy.

"Terezi, if you are at all uncomfortable with the accommodations you could always simply comment on the source of your distress and we can endeavor to find a solution." You stand carefully, placing your cane precisely before you to lean forward, following that oranges-in-winter scent. You unsettle the other Seer. That is ... interesting.

You can't, however, See this relationship. That's the thing with Seers, they can't seem to see each other. It annoys you, and you think it probably annoys her.

You listen to her words as they drop word-pebble by word-pebble into the now still waters of your blood. It will be interesting to see if it will sing a song for her and her alone.

It would be a tidy, convenient thing if your kismesis could be this tiny, delicate human with her complex plans and control. Vriska thought herself subtle, but really she was always as subtle as a brick to the think-pan.

> ((She smirks against your lips as you lean down to kiss her. Her hand tangling in your hair as her other hand reaches between your legs. You hiss at the icy touch of her metal fingers, which makes her laugh deep and low.
> 
> "You will never hate someone more than me," she murmurs.
> 
> "Promise?" you try for light and teasing but it comes out a desperate whimper.
> 
> "Promise."))

You shake yourself to break the grip of memory and give Rose a small, crooked smile.

"Things are fine," you tell her. "Things are fine."


End file.
